Cèilidh is Cùmhnant Sa gheamhradh 1936-37, chaidh sreath rèidio air an robh “Am Measg nam Bodach” a chraoladh, anns an robh daoine pongail às na h-eileanan Gaidhealach a’ cuimhneachadh seann daoine an òige. Seo a’ chiad leth dhen aithris aig Liusaidh NicCoinnich air Èisdeal agus Luinn. (teacs tùsail)	Crack and Covenant In the winter of 1936-37 was broadcast a radio series called “Am Measg nam Bodach”, in which eloquent speakers from the Hebrides remembered the old folk of their youth. Here is the first half of the programme by Liusaidh NicCoinnich on Easdale and Luing. (translation)
A cho-Ghaidheil is a chàirdean, bhon a chuireadh mise am measg nam bodach air an fheasgar seo, bu mhiann leam mar sin sgeula no dhà innseadh dhuibh mar a chuala mi iad aig na bodaich a bhiodh cho tric a’ tighinn air chèilidh gu taigh mo sheanmhair. Agus nuair a bhiodh iadsan cruinn mu thimchealll na teallaich, cha robh na bu gheur-chluasaiche na mise, oir bu mhath leam riamh a bhith ag èisteachd ri eachdraidh is seanchas nan seann daoine.	My fellow Gaels and friends, since I have been placed amongst the old men this evening, I would therefore like to tell you a story or two as I heard them from the old men who would so often come to my grandmother’s house for a crack. And when they would gather about the hearth, none were more attentive than I was, as I have always liked to listen to the history and tales related by old folk.
Tha mi gam faicinn fhathast, gach fear is e aig a chnapan gurman fhèin. Bha aon dhiubh a bha an-còmhnaidh ag aithris mu bhòcain is bhuidsichean, mun uilebheist a bha an Lochan Eilidir, a’ ghlaistig a bha san Daoidh-Leitir, an nathair a bha an Tòrsa, an tarbh dearg a bha an Èisdeal, is am brùinidh a bha an Siùna. Chan e mhàin gum biodh e a’ cur eagail oirnne a bha nar cloinn, ach bhiodh e a’ bruidhinn orra sin cho tric is gun robh e fhèin mu dheireadh a’ làn chreidsinn annta, agus ’s e bha tachairt gum feumadh bràthair mo mhàthar fhaicinn gu sàbhailte aig leac an teintein a thaighe fhèin, oir bha e a’ fàs cho gealtach mu na nithean uabhasach a ghabh bun cho làidir na inntinn, a chionn is gun robh e a’ cainnt orra cho tric.	I see them yet, each one on his own soapbox [?]. There was one of them who was always recounting tales of ghosts and witches, and about the monster in Lochan Eilidir, and the she-devil in Daoidh-Leitir, and the serpent on Tòrsa, and the red bull on Easdale, and the brownie on Shuna. Not only would he frighten us children, but he talked about them so often that eventually he came to fully believe in them himself, and the result was that my mother’s brother would have to see him home safely to his own hearth-stone, as he had grown so fearful of the awful things that had rooted themselves so securely in his mind with having spoken about them so frequently.
Bu tric a chuala mi na bodaich a’ toirt iomraidh air Alasdair mac Iain Bhàin, no Iain Caimbeul mar a b’ ainm baistidh dha. Bha a chòmhnaidh aige an Achadh dà Nadair agus b’ e creideamh nan Cùmhnantach a bha e ag agart. Ged a dh’fhaodadh e bhith cumhang na bheachd, cha ghabhadh e ràdh nach robh e na dhuine math agus cràbhach. Bha beachdan neònach aig Alasdair ge-tà, agus chladhaich e uaigh fhèin seachd bliadhna mun do chaochail e, is bha chiste thasgaidh ullamh aige air an fharadh rè na h-ùine sin.	Often I heard the worthies mentioning Alasdair, son of Iain Bàn, or John Campbell as he was baptised. He lived at Achadh dà Nadair and he professed the religion of the Covenantors. Though he could be narrow in his outlook, it had to be admitted that he was a good and holy man. Alasdair held some strange views though, and he dug his own grave seven years before he died, and his coffin was ready for him in the loft all that time.
A bharrachd air sin chaidh e a dh’ionnsaigh a choimhearsnaich Dòmhnall MacLathartaich a bha dèanamh nan leacan lighidh, is thug e òrdugh dha clach chuimhne a chur an òrdugh dha. Dh’earalaich e air Dòmhnall nach innseadh e do dhuine beò gu dè an sgrìobhadh a bh’ air an lic a chaidh a chur air an dèidh sin nuair a bha e air a thiodhlacadh ann an Cille Chatain. Chan e mhàin sin, ach chuir e suas clàr lice mun do chaochail e anns an àite cheudna air an robh an aidmheil chreidimh aige air fhoillseachadh.	What’s more, he called on his neighbour Dòmhnall MacLathartaich, who made the gravestones, and gave him an order to prepare a memorial stone for him. He cautioned Dòmhnall not to tell a living soul what text was on the stone which was eventually laid over him when buried in Kilchatton. Not only that, but before he died he erected a slab of stone in the same place on which was inscribed his confession of faith.
Cha do chòrd sin ri cuid de mhuinntir an àite, agus leag iad an leac seo ri làr. Nuair a chuala Alasdair mu dheidhinn seo, dh’òrduich e a togail suas a-rithist, agus chuir e clach eile suas còmhla rithe a bha leigeil ris gu dè a thachradh do dhuine sam bith a ghabhadh gnothach riutha. Sgrìobh e leabhar anns a’ bhliadhna ochd ceud deug is a-fichead agus chaidh mòran earrannan às a chlò-bhualadh anns an leabhar aig an Ollamh Urramach Dr Phìn.	Some of the locals didn’t like this, and they felled this slab. When Alasdair heard of this, he ordered that it be set up again, and he erected another stone alongside which let it be known what would happen to anyone who meddled with them. He wrote a book in 1820, and many extracts were printed in the book by the Reverend Professor Dr Phin.
Chuala mi bean chòir ag ràdh mu Alasdair gun robh a màthair na bana-bhuachaille aige is i na caileig. B’ uabhasach leatha nuair a dh’iarradh a’ bhean taighe oirre nì-eigin a thoirt fhar an fharaidh. “Bha,” ars’ ise, “am bogsa dubh ud tarsainn nan casan-cairbeil.” B’ e seo ciste taisgidh Alasdair.	I heard a worthy woman say about Alasdair that her mother had been a shepherdess for him when a girl. She’d be mortified when the woman of the house would ask her to get something down from the loft. “Yon black box,” she said, “was across the joists.” This was Alasdair’s coffin.
Bha dèidh mhòr aig Morair Bhràid Albann seanchas a bhith aige ri Alasdair, ged a bhiodh Alasdair a ghnàth ga sheachnadh. Gu dè ach gun tàinig iad aon latha aghaidh ri aghaidh air sgailc dhearg, meadhan an rathaid mhòir.	Lord Breadalbane was very fond of chatting to Alasdair, even though Alasdair was always avoiding him. So what happened but one day they came face to face all of a sudden, in the middle of the road.
“Nach mi tha toilichte d’ fhaicinn, Alasdair,” ars’ am Morair. “Ach gu dè idir as ciall gu bheil thu gam sheachnadh air a h-uile cothrom? Is gasta leam còmhradh càirdeil a bhith agam riut.”	“I’m most pleased to see you, Alasdair,” said the aristocrat. “But what on earth leads you to avoid me at every opportunity? I enjoy the friendly conversation I have with you.”
“Ma-tà, le ur cead,” fhreagair Alasdair, “’s e as ciall dha sin gu bheil e iomchaidh dhomh mo thighearna a ràdh ribh, agus sin rud nach abair mi ri neach air thalamh. Chan eil agamsa ach an aon Tighearna.”	“Well, by your leave,” answered Alasdair, “the reason for avoiding you is that it’s fitting that I call you my lord, and that’s something I won’t call anyone on earth. I only recognise but one Lord.”
“Abair thusa Iain riumsa is bheir mise Alasdair riutsa is tuigidh sinn a chèile nas fheàrr an sin,” thuirt am Morair is dh’fhalbh iad le chèile gu taigh Alasdair. B’ e buntàta is piocaich chruaidh a bha aca gun dìnneir, is tha e air a ràdh gun tuirt am Morair gum b’ e siud an tràth bidh’ a bu bhlasta a dh’ith e riamh..	“You call me Iain, and I’ll call you Alasdair, and we’ll then understand each other better,” said the aristocrat, and off they went together to Alasdair’s house. They had potato and cured coalfish for dinner, and it’s said that the aristocrat said that that was the tastiest meal he had ever eaten.
Bha Alasdair na dhuine diadhaidh agus is tric a chuireadh iarraidh air a chum ùrnaigh a chur suas aig leabaidh an euslaintich. Nan robh nì sònraichte fo chùram, dh’fheumadh e crìoch a chur air an sin an toiseach, oir na bheachd cha robh nithean saoghalta rim measgachadh ri gnothaichean spioradail.	Alasdair was a devout person, and frequently he would be sent for to deliver up a prayer by the bed of an invalid. If he was engaged in anything in particular, he had to finish that first, for in his view worldly things were not to be mixed with spiritual matters.
Dh’fhalbh e latha bha siud gu Coillipol a dh’iarraidh ghoireasan bhon bhùth. Air an rathad an sin ruith nighean òg às a dhèidh is ghuidh i air tighinn a-staigh is gun dèanadh e ùrnaigh às leth a màthar nach robh a’ cumail gu maith. “Chan e sin turas air an tàinig mi an-dràst’,” ars’ esan, is chùm e air. Fhuair e an gnothach sa bhùth is chaidh e dhachaigh, thug e am bathar do bhean an taighe is thill e air ais a h-uile ceum gu Collipool agus an sin chuir e suas ùrnaigh fhada rèidh aig taobh leapa na tè bha tinn.	One day he went off to Coillipol to get some goods from the shop. On the way there a young girl ran after him and pleaded with him to come in and pray on behalf of her mother, who wasn’t keeping well. “That’s not a reason for my current journey,” he said, and continued on his way. He got the errands in the shop and went home, gave the shopping to his wife, and set off back all the way to Coillipol, before offering up a long, steady prayer at the ill woman’s bedside.
Chaochail Alasdair còir sa bhliadhna ochd ceud deug is a naoidh thar fhichead, is e ochd deug is trì fichead bliadhna a dh’aois.	This fine man died in the year 1829 at the age of seventy-eight.
Bha Alasdair Caimbeul eile an Luinn, Dotair an Drionain mar a theireadh na seann daoine ris. Bha meas mòr air na dhreuchd san dà sgìre san robh e a’ freastal mar fhear sgileil barraichte. Cha robh e riamh an colaiste, ach bha e bliadhn’ air fhichead san arm na ghille frithealaidh aig dotair airm. Bha iad le chèile rè iomadh bliadhna sna h-Innsean, agus ’s ann uaithesan a dh’fhoghlaim Alasdair an t-eòlas a bha aige.	There was another Alasdair Caimbeul in Luing, Dotair an Drionain [the ?dawdling doctor] as the old folk called him. He was greatly respected in his job in the two districts he served as an exceptionally skilful man. He never attended college, but was 21 years in the army as an assistant to an army doctor. They were together for many years in India, and it was from him that Alasdair acquired his knowledge.
Chuala mi bràthair mo mhàthar, a chaochail bho chionn trì bliadhna, ag ràdh gum b’ e Dotair an Drionain a chuir a’ bhreac airsan is e na leanabh an Eilean Bheul na h-Uaimhe.	I heard my uncle, who died three years ago, say that it was Dotair an Drionain who inoculated him against smallpox when he was a child in Belnahua Island.
Thog Caiptean Caimbeul, a bha an cogadh mòr Bhonapart, taigh brèagha an Àrd Luinne sa bhliadhna ochd ceud deug is a sia deug. Tha sin snaighte air a’ chloich a tha os ceann an àrd-dorais. Thug an Caiptean cuirm ghasta seachad nuair a bha an taigh ullamh. Bha seachd oifigich airm an làthair, is nam measg bha an t-àrd mharaiche, an t-Admaral MacDhùghaill a cheannaich an oighreachd is a ghabh a chòmhnaidh ann an Àird nan Capall. Tha Taigh Àrd Luinne a-nis gu falamh, fuar.	Captain Campbell, who was in the Napoleonic Wars, built a beautiful house in Àrd Luinne in the year 1816. That is carved in the stone above the lintel. The Captain laid on a fine feast when the house was completed. There were seven military officers pres- ent, and amongst them was navy top-brass Admiral MacDougal, who bought the estate of Ardencaple and took up residence there. Àrd Luinne House is now empty and cold.
to be continued	ri leantainn

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